


Just Before They Fall Apart

by fauvistfly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauvistfly/pseuds/fauvistfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Japan was filled with affectionate looks and secret moments. So what happened? Louis' POV of the night of the Brits and the morning after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Before They Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completely self-indulgent fic. It's my head canon to excuse Louis' recent immaturity and come to terms with the undeniable fondness between Harry and Grimmy.

Still buzzing from their performance, the boys head back into their dressing room, faces alight with smiles and leftover energy coursing through their sweaty bodies. They catch each other's eyes and then smash into another group hug, half-dancing. As they exhale and start to shift, Louis can't help but hold on--tighter, even--to Harry, his hand so naturally fitting into the crook of his neck. The other boys slide away, Niall turning to leap as high as his knee will allow and Zayn running his hands over his face and Liam grinning and bobbing, but Louis turns slowly and buries his face into Harry's warmth and smell. When he feels Harry stiffen slightly, he keeps his eyes clenched tight and tries ignore the aching sorrow in his chest. Still, he refuses to let go.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Louis finally starts to breathe again when he feels Harry relax and curl him into his arms in a way that is so natural it stings. They stay there for a while, breathing in the same air as the other boys quietly move aside to give them this moment that has become rarer and rarer. Harry pulls back a little, just enough to make eye contact, and Louis takes a moment to prepare himself before lifting his eyes to meet Harry’s. He still feels a jolt when he looks at him, tries not to lose himself in mushy, poetic musings of clear green glass and soulful eyes. There is still a connection, despite it all. He tries--really, he does--not to look at Harry’s lips or lick his own, but it’s such second nature. The connection is lost, and Harry sighs tiredly before bringing him close again, an embrace that’s more about bodies pressed against bodies than arms enclosing. There is nostalgia in the hug, and the light kiss that Harry ghosts over his neck before he pulls away burns through him and lingers long after they’ve left the room, no longer touching at all.

*

He knows he’s being annoying. He’s being immature and stupid and utterly ridiculous--hiding the Brit, running from the poor, flustered assistant, and sticking dick mikes into Zayn’s face. He wants to apologize for his behavior, but he’s thrown himself down this slope, and Liam is stupidly following him. He could blame management, he supposes, for this trainwreck of a friendship. With Harry, Louis could be ridiculous and silly but know that Harry would keep him from being too idiotic with a shake of his dimpled face. Liam only eggs him on, finds it exhilarating to be the recipient of Louis’ affections, supposed secrets and pranks. There’s no balance to their friendship, and often the two end up with more regrets than laughs. Still, if his outlandish behavior means that Harry is able to look at him without suspicion, even if that look involves rolled eyes and contained irritation, then he will do it. That’s what it’s become. He will take any kind of attention just to feel those eyes on him. It’s pathetic.

Once the Brits are over and Harry goes off with Nick fucking Grimshaw and Louis goes off with Eleanor, his immaturity devolves into pettiness. He is drinking with abandon and blatantly ignoring Eleanor and her obvious shivers while he stays snug in the jacket that might possibly still smell of Harry. He calls it a night when he cannot stand to hear himself make another inane joke. When he heads to the car with Eleanor gripping his elbow, he forces himself to smile for the paps. This was why he made his decision, right? So paps could perpetuate the boyfriend image and keep the band nice and normal and accessible to all their shrieking girl fans? He reminds himself of this all the time, but he still cannot bring himself to hold El's hand or show more affection. The tight smile is all he can manage to do today, and he tells himself he'll try to be a better fake boyfriend next time.

When he gets home, he jumps into the shower and makes the water scalding hot. Even in the privacy of his own flat, he refuses to let go, to unclench his feelings. He merely lets the steaming water run over him for a while and tries to turn off his mind. He finally steps out, face flushed and eyes slightly red, and towels off. He throws on a pair of briefs and a comfy hooded sweatshirt--there is obviously a strong masochistic streak in him. And because he's aware of this streak, he sets his alarm for 6:15 to wake up in time for Nick's Breakfast Show.

He crawls into bed and closes his eyes, but he's not really asleep. Words and images are spinning through his mind like a mesmerizing Tumblr gif, and not one of the good ones. 

_  
"I can't believe you caved so quickly. You didn't--you didn't even try." Harry's voice is angry, but it's also resigned. Louis can't even bring himself to defend himself, let alone look at Harry. He stares at his ankles and thinks about how cold they are._

_"I thought Japan, well. I thought that--" Harry stops mid-sentence, and Louis still can't look up, even though he can hear the tears in his voice. He bites his lip because he doesn't even understand himself right now. All he knows is that he can't. He can't. (He won't) He can't._

_Harry inhales shakily and stands up to leave. "Right. Um. So, Nick wants to throw me a birthday party. I, I think I'm going to let him."_

_"Yeah, yeah, of course. You should." Even he winces at the hollow, fake quality of his voice._

_Harry snorts in both disgust and despair before leaving, the door clicking shut with finality. Louis continues to sit, staring at his ankles and thinking about the cold.  
_

*

Marimba chases the memories away, and Louis turns on his radio. He braces himself for Nick's morning greeting and then decides he needs tea and a biscuit (fuck the no carbs rule) to get him through the show.

He brings breakfast to his bed and burrows back into his covers. When he hears Harry's voice, all smiley and drunk and husky, he can't help but smile. And when he hears him with Nick, the affection and, yes, intimacy between them is undeniable. Nick makes Harry happy in an uncomplicated, easy way. It hurts, god it hurts so much, but Harry sounds so lighthearted and sunny that he holds that warmth inside to soothe the ache. Without overthinking, he grabs his phone and sends Harry a text.

_Glad you had a good time last night. You sound so happy. You deserve it. Xx_

He then turns his phone off and goes back to listening to the show and hating Nick. But he hates himself more.


End file.
